water table

the table doesn’t mind
which side you’re on
it’s a conduit
to the floor
the ceiling the sky
held back
at bay
at least it floats
when you throw it all in
like a towel laid out
before you
before the sea
and what you make of it
rises up angry
and strikes you
as being water
in a bucket
without a spade
to dig a moat
for a boat

Grant Morgan 22/7/04